


The Roses Bleed Both Light and Dark

by LaDonnaErrante



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s, Canonical Character Death, Coming Out, F/F, First War with Voldemort, Period-Typical Homophobia, War, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDonnaErrante/pseuds/LaDonnaErrante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four moments from the First Wizarding War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Roses Bleed Both Light and Dark

**Author's Note:**

> To liliths_requiem, I hope you enjoy this little fic replete with family dynamics. A huge thank you to T for the beta-job couldn’t have done it without you! All remaining errors are my own. The title is taken from “The Quiet Joys of Brotherhood” written by Sandy Denny.

**1974**

It begins at the Hogs Head. Arabella walks in, dressed in wizard’s robes, she is trying to fit in. Marlene sticks out as much as anyone can at the Hogs Head, in a leather jacket and combat boots, sipping a firewhiskey.

Arabella takes in the woman at the end of the bar. A few years younger than herself, she is tall with an unruly mop of short brown hair and a chip on her shoulder given her posture. She’s always been drawn to women like this, a little rough on the edge, with a little swagger that makes something warm settle in Arabella’s stomach.

She sits down next to the butch, squeezing in next to an aging wizard who’s already had too much. She orders a pint of stout and takes the first sip and sneezing discreetly into her elbow.

“Hankie?” Marlene proffers a tartan square of fabric, the signal. 

“Thanks.” Arabella blows her nose, placing a small piece of parchment into the handkerchief which she returns. When Marlene takes it from her, she feels a small shiver run up her spine at the touch. She lets her hand linger slightly in Marlene’s, letting Marlene’s long fingers brush lightly over her palm.

Above the counter, Arabella raises an eyebrow suggestively; Marlene winks.

“Buy you a drink?” she asks.

Arabella nods, “That’d be lovely, thanks.”

 

**1976**

There is a knock on the door, and Arabella, who is used to late night callers—this is wartime after all—answers it in her housedress. She is not surprised to see Marlene looking disheveled and slightly bloody.

“What was the name of my first cat?”

“Mr. Magoo, what’s the tattoo on my back?”

“Sickle and Hammer,” Arabella replies, urging Marlene into her flat.

“I know the drill,” Marlene says, before Arabella can start with her usual litany of complaints and instruction.

Marlene sits on the toilet seat while Arabella fusses—gathering iodine and a flannel, lukewarm water and some bandages.

“I do wish you’d be more careful,” Arabella says as she dabs the cut on Marlene’s cheek.

Marlene winces and then shrugs. “It’s a war. There’s not really a good way to avoid getting hurt.”

Arabella _hmphs_ quietly and puts a plaster on the cut. It’s a sore subject. There’s not much she can do: a bit of reconnaissance here and there when Dumbledore asks, keeping some of the order quartered and fed. But the work is intermittent and as much as everyone pretends otherwise, a squib isn’t all that useful in the war effort. So she just hums quietly as she patches up Marlene as best she can.

“Stop your squirming,” Arabella orders as she pulls the rough work shirt carefully from Marlene’s shoulders to reveal purple bruises blooming across her chest, dipping below the line of her undershirt. Arabella looks worriedly at the chest for a moment, lightly running her fingers over the bloodied skin. Her touch is gentle, but Marlene hisses. 

“Caught the blowback from a _Reducto_ that hit a bookcase.”

Arabella just _tsks_.

“Could have been worse. Dearborn was portkeyed to St. Mungos.”

Arabella gently rubs a magical ointment Marlene brought her from Diagon Alley into her bruises. “I don’t know why you don’t go to the order healers; they could patch you up much quicker.” 

Marlene reaches up and curls an arm around Arabella, pulling her close. “I’d rather come home to you.” Arabella’s fingers play in Marlene’s short hair, carefully avoiding the bruises and scrapes that have yet to heal from the last round of fighting. Marlene pulls Arabella’s head down and into a soft, pliant kiss. 

 

**1978**

The war is nowhere near ending and as more and more families are torn apart by violence their time together becomes both more precious and strained. They are “roommates” now; they take turns cooking when Marlene isn’t on assignment for the Order. As Order membership has dwindled, the work has increased, and Arabella has become the de facto secretary. Marlene was the one who suggested it—minutes could be taken and business accomplished much more efficiently with one of those “TrypeWirer” things she always saw in muggle offices. So, Arabella had brought a typewriter to the next meeting and her responsibilities had only grown from there.

Marlene does the washing up and Arabella dries. Kate Bush croons quietly in the background. Tension hangs thick in the air.

Marlene scrubs furiously. “You know,” Arabella says lightly, “you won’t find any Death Eaters to curse on that plate.”

Marlene lets out an exaggerated sigh, “Just come to the wedding with me.”

“What would be point? Just so your family can point at me and whisper behind our backs about how their deviant daughter brought home a squib?”

Marlene rolls her eyes. “You know my mum’s muggleborn, so half the family can’t tell a real witch from stuffed one. And the rest of them don’t care. Not about your being a squib anyways. Dad and Selwyn are in the Order; you know them, for Merlin’s sake. I don’t understand why you won’t just give me this one thing.”

“I just--” She chokes for a moment, swallowing back tears. She takes a moment to gather herself and sits down at the table. Marlene leans casually against the counter, trying to look patient.

“I don’t want to go as your friend. I don’t want to have to watch you dance with cousins and listen to your mother try to set you up with someone from a good wizarding family and 7 NEWTs.”

Marlene’s expression softens slightly. “We aren’t out in the Order…the wedding is by and large the same people. How is this any different than that?”

“The Order is work. Your brother’s wedding is family. I don’t mind them not knowing, in theory at least. But watching them celebrate Selwyn and Dorcas’ love, knowing that we’ll never have the same thing. I don’t have it in me.” Tears are running down her cheeks now. “I want them to see us, to see you, the way I see you. Not stuffed into some dress or pretending at something you’re not.”

Marlene removes her dishwashing gloves and pulls a handkerchief out of a pocket, handing it to Arabella as she sits down. 

“Thanks,” she smiles, wiping her eyes.

Marlene puts a hand, scarred and calloused, on top of Arabella’s hand resting on the table. “I love you. And I want them to see that. They know what I am--Mum and Dad and Selwyn do on some level, but they ignore it. And you deserve better than that. We both do. Will you come as my date?”

Arabella looks up at her in wonder, “you’re sure you’re ready for this?” 

Marlene nods curtly and swallows. “‘Cause if Mum thinks she’s getting me into a dress for the wedding, she has another thing coming.”

Arabella gives a weak chuckle.

“Made you laugh,” Marlene winks.

*****

Selwyn and Dorcas’ wedding is a small affair in the garden of a safe house on Midsummer’s Eve. The mood is strange, in part due to the strain of the war, grief and joy are mingled with anticipation of the opportunity to let loose to come. But there is tension palpable in the wedding party. A murmur runs through the crowd when they realize that it’s Marlene standing up for her brother, in a Muggle three piece suit and tie. 

After three weeks of Marlene rowing with her mother about the suit and about Arabella, followed several order meetings where the entire McKinnon family gave them both the cold shoulder, Selwyn had stepped in and insisted that Marlene not only bring Arabella with her, but that she be treated as one of the family. So she sits in the front row watching Selwyn fidget while Marlene teases him gently in an attempt to calm him.

Mrs. McKinnon is already crying, telling everyone in earshot how grown up her babies are, and “Don’t they just look like peas in a pod.” 

_It’s true_ , thinks Arabella. Their large soft brown eyes and the way they smile and sometimes the tilt of the head when they are trying to take in important information is uncanny. And today they both look radiant. She would say this to Mrs. McKinnon, except that Mrs. McKinnon is still pointedly ignoring her. Then Arabella hears her remark, “Though I do wish she’d had the sense to wear a dress, and she’d look so beautiful with her face properly done.” Arabella thinks it is probably a very good thing they are not speaking to another, because she’d likely. The rest of the family is trying so hard to be polite and accepting for Selwyn’s sake, and for Marlene’s too, that ruining the wedding by smacking the mother of the groom, would _not_ be on. Instead, she takes a deep breath and catches Marlene’s eye, giving her a little wink when their eyes meet. Marlene smiles back, eyeing her mother and then rolling her eyes. 

The ceremony is simple and elegant, acknowledging both the lives of those lost in the struggle and reminding them all that they are fighting for a time when love will not be squeezed between battles and mourning rites. The whole Order is in tears when they two spouses finally kiss.

Then, with the wave of a wand, the mood changes. Somber remembrance and stately love turn to wild joy and lively music. They all jump and jive until the meal is served. Arabella watches as Marlene and Selwyn step lively together, doing a silly routine they had made up as children, when Mr. McKinnon sits down beside her, champagne flute in hand and rather red-faced already.

“Congratulations Mr. McKinnon.”

He smiles uncomfortably. “We needed the break this provides, terrible time for a wedding... Selwyn always has chosen a path that takes guts though. Both of them have, I s’pose. Gryffindors through and through.” He chuckles.

“Quite.”

“Can’t say I’ve always understood Marlene’s choices. Can’t say I ever have, in fact.”

“Mr. Mc—“

“No, hang on a tetch, young lady. Don’t know that I ever will understand. But the thing about other people’s choices, especially your own children’s, is that you don’t have to understand to accept ‘em.” Before Arabella can formulate a reply, he stands up and joins the revelers at another table.

After dinner the music slows and Selwyn and Dorcas dance their first proper dance.

When they finish and other couples begin to fill the dance floor, Marlene pulls Arabella to her feet.

“Now?”

Marlene laughs. “Yes, now. What kind of lover would I be if I didn’t offer my old lady the first dance of the night, eh?” She takes one of Arabella’s hands in her own and rests a hand on the small of Arabella’s back, pulling her close.

“So I’m your old lady now, huh?”

“And I’d be lost without you.” They dance slowly cheek to cheek, swaying gently. They hold each other close for the rest of the evening.

 

**1981**

The McKinnon funeral is short and poorly attended. There is barely anyone left to mourn the fallen these days. The ones who are present are silent, numb. Death has become routine; losing one more family is just that. The same, ever dwindling set of faces smiling sadly at one another, shaking hands and exchanging loose hugs. 

This time, Arabella sits stiffly in the front row. This time, people keep coming up to her to tell her how sorry they are. Today, there is no one with whom to trade a small wink, and she won’t feel a hand on her shoulder or at the small of her back.

Today, Arabella stands at the front, by herself and gives the eulogy--for all of them, for Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon, for Selwyn and Dorcas and the baby, Eliza and for Marlene. She tells them about their silly jokes, and the love they had for one another. The love Marlene had for her. She speaks about how Marlene helped her find her place, “She gave me a home in a world that wasn’t interested in a lesbian squib.”

“More importantly,” she reflects, “Marlene showed me how to make space for herself simply by being. And that is what we are all striving for, a world where we can simply be ourselves: wizard, witch, muggle, or even squib. Marlene and the whole McKinnon family fought for that ideal every single day. Many of us, who are members Order of the Phoenix, have at one time or another been the recipients of their generosity and dedication. We will remember their boldness, their vision and their willingness to lay down their lives for others.” 

There are so many lost, so many people to remember, to tuck into one’s heart and carry into the world, into the fight. The place in Arabella’s heart carved out for Marlene contains a wealth of memories that belong only to her: the snarky side comments during Order meetings, Marlene’s good natured complaints about the number of Kneazles Arabella insisted on keeping, the beautiful defiance in her stance with her bike leathers on, the soft whispers of reassurance and the comfort of hands in the night that made wartime bearable. These are for her alone. They flood her mind at once; the fullness of who Marlene is, no, _was_ , washes over her. Even dead she refuses to be pulled into pieces, she will always be only and completely Marlene. Tears begin to stream down Arabella’s cheeks. She pulls one of Marlene’s tartan handkerchiefs from her handbag, and wipes her face, breathing in Marlene’s scent. She blows her nose and tucks the hankie into the breast pocket of her robes. Arabella will carry Marlene with her into whatever comes next for them.


End file.
